


Peace in My Grave

by Eileniessa



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Infinity Stone Soul World (Marvel), Moving On, Resolution, Soul Stone (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eileniessa/pseuds/Eileniessa
Summary: Natasha chuckled softly; whatever expression had had upon his face in his disbelief evidently causing the woman across the bar much amusement – be it ever so slightly at his expense. “What’s wrong, Bruce? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she teased, cocking her head to one side and raising her eyebrows. Bruce supposed he had.





	Peace in My Grave

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I do not claim ownership to any of these characters and have written this fan fiction for entertainment, not financial gain.
> 
> Warning: Contains spoilers for Avengers: Endgame.

The instant he used the infinity stones, a darkness descended upon him which stole from him the sight of his friends and their fearful glances, and which washed away the indescribable pain that had been coursing through his veins as he'd attempted to wield the power of the universe's most ancient creation. A sudden sense of anxiety and terror followed in the wake of the darkness, for wicked did it seem to him, and for a passing moment he pondered whether into the everlasting blackness of death he did stare. But the morbid thought was soon banished from the back of his mind when in the distance he spied dawn's unmistakable orange hue arising unheralded from the darkness. Bruce shielded his eyes as the light sped towards him, its brightness piercing through his heavy lids.

A pleasant heat spread over his – Bruce's – body and sunk deep into his bone, and in its comforting embrace, in spite of himself, he felt his fears and worries melt away. Filled with wonder and content, Bruce opened his eyes to the dawn, seeing it all around him, in the swirling, brush-stroked clouds that covered the sky as Eros covered his mother Gaia, the earth, and in the light which beamed down on him and danced on the surface of the water upon which he stood like a saint. He knew not where he was, no ancient text or erudite preacher had ever described to him an afterlife that resembled this, and yet was struck by a startling sense of familiarity, the type one often feels when they walk again upon the streets lost in childhood memory. In the land of the undying dawn, Bruce was certain something was waiting for him. That was when he noticed her.

She was leaning across a bar of expensive taste that looked equal parts elegant and excessive, a black stone base topped with smooth, dark marble broken up by a bright light strip. He recognised it as one of the tower's, the place that he'd called home a lifetime ago. The water rippled under his footsteps as, in a daze, he crossed the distance between himself and the bar while the woman behind it filled two cocktail glasses with a red liquid from the mixer she had at hand. One of the drinks she took for herself, swirling it around and taking a light sip with crimson lips, and the other she pushed towards him. Bruce didn't take it, he couldn't, for all the world had ceased to move as he looked upon the face of the woman with unbelieving eyes. Perhaps he was dead after all, for was it not a ghost that he saw before him, one disguised behind a veil of likeness and form? So real she looked, the same smile upon her face and glint in her eye that he had seen when last they met beside a bar, but with long red and gold-tipped hair braided in the same plait that she had worn in their final meeting.

As he stared at her she laughed, and it was Natasha's laugh, he remembered it well even though he so seldom heard it, especially within recent years. Without breaking eye contact she took another sip of her drink and held the glass close to her face. She was wearing a plain black top and a somewhat oversized grey jacket that Bruce was sure had belonged to Steve or Clint at some point, and the cords for the hood swung slightly as she picked up the other drink and held it out to him.

"Hey Big Guy, it's good to see you," she said playfully.

Silently he took the glass from her hands without looking at it, fearing that to look away from her would be to lose forever the memory of her smile. It all seemed too real; she seemed too real, too much like the Natasha that he knew she couldn't be. The saying 'too good to be true' resonated in his mind and he felt strongly that if ever there was an instance to which those words could be applied, then this was it. He wanted so badly to believe it was her, but he'd grown used to the fact that life is relentlessly cruel and he supposed, then, that he shouldn't expect anything less in death.

Natasha chuckled softly; whatever expression had had upon his face in his disbelief evidently causing the woman across the bar much amusement – be it ever so slightly at his expense. "What's wrong, Bruce? You look like you've seen a ghost," she teased, cocking her head to one side and raising her eyebrows. Bruce supposed he had.

Natasha gave him a lopsided smile when he frowned at her. It might have been an innocent jest, but he didn't appreciate that this spectre of the Dawn was making light of Natasha's death, even if the words it spoke could easily have come from the woman who's face it wore. It was hardly out of character for Natasha to jest about things that he believed should be handled with the serious disposition he knew all too well she possessed, rather than with the sarcastic charm he'd come to enjoy. Many quips and frowns had been exchanged between them in the aftermath of bloody missions. He still remembered with horrifying clarity the feel of her blood staining his hands when once she'd taken for him a bullet meant to bring the Other Guy out to play. 'You could at least take me out for dinner, Doc', she'd joked when he'd pulled up her shirt to see the wound, laughter tinted with pain passing from his lips as he stammered his apology.

"I think you might still be scarred by those horror films Tony used to insist we watched," she continued. "Would you like me to haunt him for you? I promise he'll never want to touch another John Carpenter film when I'm through with him."

Stark's idea of a team building exercise, that was how those nights had started out when, months after New York and weeks after the fall of Shield, they had all gathered together again in one place, Stark Tower, the new home for the Avengers initiative. Knowing better than to devoid him of a project, hearing first-hand from Pepper of the consequences of having an unfocused Stark on your hands, the Avengers had submitted themselves to these educational-team bonding-movie nights. Tony had felt that their cultural horizons required broadening and that they needed something to do together besides saving humanity. He also delighted in the thought of spearheading Steve's and Thor's education into 20th and 21st-century history. Having spent many long years buried in his research, and then on the run because of it, Bruce could also 'benefit' from a movie night, Tony supposed, along with Clint who according to Stark had perhaps unredeemable taste. After the proposal and ensuing argument, Natasha was the only one to come out unscathed having heartlessly – but beautifully – savaged Tony's ego with her own knowledge of film. Bruce had seen the glint in Clint's eye when Stark had challenged the spy and knew that it was going to be a frightful battle. For all his genius, one would have thought that Tony would know better than to think he could outsmart a KGB spy raised to infiltrate the West when it came to American culture. Then again, the boundary between intelligence and wisdom was sharply delineated, and one could never accuse Stark of playing both fields.

Things went smoothly at first. They watched a handful of films about the war which Natasha had speculated one evening was to lull Steve into a false sense of security, an easy feat for they all soon learned that Rogers was the personification of gullible – alongside justice, freedom and all that patriotic stuff. She was right, of course, for on the fourth or fifth occasion Tony gleefully presented to them 'The Thing' and proceeded to draw great pleasure from their unease, as the group cast fearful glances towards the screen as well as himself. Fortunately, the Hulk was a no show. After that night, things escalated. Tony screened another horror film, 'Halloween', the following movie night and another after that, declaring, amidst protests, that the horror fest could only be drawn to a close when he had successfully chosen a movie that elicited even the remotest look of fright from 'Red', as he took to calling Natasha. It was the only nickname he had for her that Natasha allowed him to keep, allowed in this context meaning that it was the only nickname Tony could use without falling prey to a very serious threat of death. These horror filled movie nights went on for a few weeks until Stark admitted defeated, likely at Pepper's behest as Bruce was sure news of Tony's antics had reached her by way of Jarvis, and mourned loudly the loss of another fraction of his ego at the hands of the merciless and unrelenting Romanoff; it was fair to say that he was alone in his grief.

Bruce looked into the depths of his glass and Natasha left the silence undisturbed this time, sipping away at her drink as she leaned sideways against the bar. When he looked up he saw her staring out into the orange-tinted nothingness that surrounded them and was reminded sharply of the time he'd spent doing much the same, gazing deep into the soul stone.

Setting down his drink, Bruce walked around the side of the bar and stood before her. "It really is you, isn't it?"

Natasha flashed him an exaggerated smile and held out her arms like she was addressing a crowd. "In the flesh," she smirked, using the same voice he'd heard from her only once before when she had taken on a mission as an Avenger that had somehow (neither of them felt inclined to explain the situation) ended up with her and Clint on stage performing magic tricks. Bruce remembered the incident well because when Tony pressed them for details and made a few questionably dangerous jokes given his company, Natasha had promptly made a number of Stark's possessions disappear.

Slowly, Bruce held out his arms and gripped her shoulders. When he touched her, his hands didn't pass through her body, nor did Natasha disappear as he had feared she might, just like how the image of his mother used to fade into nothing when he'd approached her in his dreams as a child. There was something solid, something real, under his fingertips.

Natasha put her empty glass on the table and mirrored the Doctor's movement, slapping his shoulders with her palms and holding him, her face expressionless. "Bruce, when you've finished fondling me, would you mind greeting me properly. Heavens knows you've kept me waiting long enough.

"Oh, uh, sorry…" he laughed nervously and let go. "I-"

Natasha gave him a lopsided smile. Using her grip on his shoulders, she pulled him towards her and settled her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Much better," she said when he pressed his hands against the small of her back in return. Bruce sighed; he didn't think he'd ever feel this way again.

If he'd had things his way, Bruce might never have let go and when Natasha pulled back, he didn't move back to the other side of the bar because he couldn't bear there being any more distance between them.

"God Nat, it's good to see you too," he told her.  _I've missed you_ , he thought,  _I've missed you so much it hurts_.

"Careful Bruce, I'm sure Rogers wouldn't appreciate you taking the Lord's name in vain." He chuckled, but then the smile dropped from his face and his thoughts turned suddenly sombre. "What's on your mind?" Natasha asked in a heartbeat. Bruce found it scary sometimes how Romanoff could read people with such ease, making it look so natural that he had at times questioned whether she was actually a psychic. Considering all the things he'd seen since Loki and New York, it was far from a preposterous idea.

Bruce wrung his fingers and shifted uncomfortably under her intense gaze. Turning his eyes to the floor he saw his old self staring up at him from the water and it was strange to see for a long time had passed since he'd lost his human complexion and seen nought but green in the mirror. He looked younger than he remembered, wearing the same face as the one he had on in the picture that sat upon the desk in his laboratory in a silver frame, the one their team had taken together for his birthday, before Thanos and Ultron. He found himself thinking about all that could have been.

"Nat…you shouldn't have done it," he murmured after a spell of silence, looking away from the sight of his old face; of his past and distant life.

Natasha's expression softened. She turned sideways and leant her back against the bar with her arms crossed, staring for a few seconds out into the distance. "I can think of a lot of things that I shouldn't have done, that I wish I hadn't. This isn't one of them, Bruce. I don't regret it," she replied holding his stare, and though her voice was light and gentle, there was no denying the seriousness with which she spoke.

"But you were supposed to come back."  _I'll see you in a minute_ ,  _she'd said, but he never did._

Romanoff smiled sadly at him over her shoulder. He had one of his hands upon the bar behind her, and she placed her palm over it. Her skin was warmer than he remembered, but it had been a while. "I know, and I wanted to, but I couldn't. You know that."

 _It had to be me_. He heard the words that she didn't need to speak. Clint was her friend and the first family she'd ever had. He hadn't just spared her life when they first met but given it back to her, returning that which she'd not experienced since before she could remember. How could Natasha let him die when she could take his place? But it's not just that, because she'd have done it for him too; for Steve, Tony, Thor, probably even for Scott.

Natasha wouldn't be the remarkable woman he knew her to be if she let someone make the hero sacrifice for her. He admired that about her; the willingness she possessed to put everything on the line for an outcome that she believed was worth the sacrifices she could make to achieve it. Whether she would ever reap the benefits of her dedication or gain back that which victory had cost her was unimportant to Natasha, to know that her actions furthered the greater good was the only reward for which she garnered and for which she was willing to endure the pains of success. Far too often did this quality go unappreciated outside the folds of the Avengers and her family, however. Rogers might have been the one to say 'whatever it takes', but Natasha had always been the one to embody it; right till the end. He admired that about her, but now he hated it too.

Bruce sighed. "I do,"  _but it still hurts._

Natasha stepped closer and wrapped herself around his upper arm, squeezing it gently and settling her head on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a while – if a while there can be in a place where the concept of time is perhaps as foreign as the finality of death – basking in the uplifting glow of the soul stone and each other's unwavering company. Bruce felt content to stand forever as a statue under these unfamiliar skies and to be burdened no longer with the painful reality of life beyond the veil of death.

He heard Natasha let out a long, slow breath beside him and felt the warmth of her body move carefully away. "Sun's getting real low," she replied to his quizzical look, "it's time for you to go. You can't stay, there's no room; the soul stone is very exclusive you see and I'm afraid you don't meet the criteria for permanent housing."

Bruce shook his head. "But I'm not ready to let go, Natasha, please. I don't want to go back without you." He took her hands in his own, keeping her in place and daring the soul stone to try and take her from him. If he couldn't be with her on Earth, then an eternity in a place unwelcomed and shunned by Life but hidden from the unforgiving eyes of Death would have to suffice. Besides, if Natasha was forced to stay, the least he could do was to make sure she wasn't alone. He owed her that.

"It's okay Bruce, you don't need to," she said softly. Romanoff pulled her right hand free from his grasp and the Doctor held his breath, waiting to see if she'd run where he could not follow. But Natasha didn't move from her place before him, pressing her palm against his chest. "I'll always be with you. After all, I live on in half the universe now."

The smile she gave him reached far up into her eyes, revealing the laugh lines hidden around them and setting him immediately at ease. For a few moments, her radiance distracted him but when his mind caught up he started. "We did it?"

Natasha laughed through her nose and nodded. "Yes, you did. You're one hell of a Doctor, you brought them back, all of them."

Just as the Dawn had rushed him in the darkness, Bruce felt a surge of light flood his soul and fill his mind with bright thoughts. He closed his eyes and threw back his head, exhaling deeply with half a smile plastered across his face. When he'd agreed to use the gauntlet he hadn't dared to hope that it would work, that the power of the stones would be able to undo another's wish. He knew only that he must try, however high the cost and however low the chance of success. He wasn't prepared to let Natasha die for nothing.

When he opened his eyes, she was watching him still, her fine features illuminated by the unseen light of the stone that held her. His vision blurred as he studied her face. "But not you," he whispered.

"No, not me," she admitted. Tears began to run down his face, his joy quickly extinguished by the remembrance of its cost. But Natasha didn't cry; no signs of despair cracked her beatific appearance which he knew to be no façade applied for his sake. "I know you tried, Bruce," she whispered into his ear as she held him close, rubbing circles against his back, "and I wish I could come home with you, but this is where I belong."

"This isn't fair. I wish…"  _I wish it had been someone else._

He felt Romanoff's shoulders tense under the palms of his hands. She looked at him through slightly narrowed eyes, pencilled eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "But I don't," she disagreed firmly.

Bruce blinked at her and Natasha sighed, pressing her steepled fingers against either side of her nose. After a few seconds, she turned to the bar and placed her palms on the light strip, leaning her weight against them. She looked sideways at him and inclined her head. Bruce walked back around the bar and sat on a stool he was sure hadn't been there when he arrived. Nervously, he rubbed his fingers against the marble and didn't look up until Natasha cleared her throat. She leant across the bar until he could feel her hot breath against his face.

"I didn't want to die, but if someone had to then I'm glad it was me," she explained in a small voice. Bruce swallowed the lump forming in his throat as Natasha held his eyes while she spoke, her voice stilling his uneasy hands as it commanded nothing less than his full attention. "I couldn't let it be anyone else. Don't take this from me, Bruce. I know you're sad that I'm gone, and I'm sorry for my part in that, but I'd do it again. It might look a bit lonely here and the décor is a bit sparse, sure, but I'm happy here, honest. It's…peaceful. I never thought I'd find that, Bruce, but I did. My life was full of regret that I could never clear away, but my death isn't one of them and in my grave, I've found peace. Please, don't take that from me."

Natasha looked at him with earnest. Fey she seemed to him as he beheld her face more carefully. Gone were all the scars of stress that she had accumulated when upon her shoulders she took willingly from the Titan Atlas the weight of the world, while in her hands she held the burden of the cosmos. Bright too were her eyes, fluorescent with a renewed youth and rapture that had once been dull and hard to see, whittled almost to nothing by all that she'd witnessed in her few but long years on Earth. And Bruce saw then that she spoke the truth, and he understood.

"I won't, I promise," he replied. "This peace, you deserve it, and you have done for a long time, whatever you might tell yourself. We couldn't have done this without you, Nat, all those lives, there on you."

Romanoff moved off her arms and leant on her elbows, bringing her clasped hands up into the small space between them. She looked at them thoughtfully and smiled to herself, rubbing her thumbs together. "I guess I really did manage to wipe my ledger clean, didn't I?" said mused, turning her eyes back to his face.

"You did a lot more than that." Bruce put his hands around hers. "Your ledgers golden, Nat, and that's all that they'll remember."

Natasha tilted her head to the side, crimson lips turning up into a smile that drew from him a euphoria of unimaginable intensity that he promised himself he'd never forget. "Thank you, Bruce," she beamed.

There was a moment of silence, and then Natasha looked over his shoulder and dropped her eyes, her face slightly wan. Gracefully she walked around the bar and linked her arms with him, guiding him towards something that he could not see, but which he felt pulling at his chest.

"It's time. You can't delay this any further. You've got a lot of life left to enjoy, and if you don't get back out there and make the most it, I'll haunt your arse," Romanoff said, patting his arm.

She stopped him a few metres from the bar and looked over her left shoulder, then at him, smiling the sad smile of permanent departure. Bruce ran a hand through his hair while his eyes flickered between her and that which was unseen. He still didn't want to go back, but for her, he would; no matter how much it hurt, he had to live the life she couldn't anymore. As he hesitated, Natasha reached up and threaded her fingers together behind his neck. His skin tingled as she kissed his cheek.

"Goodbye, Bruce," she said softly against his ear. Then she stepped away and Bruce felt his chest constrict and his body lighten.

"Goodbye, Nat. I adore you."

Bruce watched her for as long as he could, and when he blinked, the darkness returned.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I do hope you enjoyed this short – my first, but hopefully not last if this is received well – Marvel fanfiction. I've had this idea floating around in my head since browsing Reddit a few days after the release of Avengers: Endgame and after my first (yes there was more than one) viewing. I'm pleased to finally be able to bring it to life and can only apologise that it is less than 50% story and more than 50% waffle. You might be able to tell that fantasy is my main forte and I can't say that the rather bizarre Tolkien-H. literacy style I have developed translates well, so I might perhaps need to make adjustments for any future endeavours into this fandom.
> 
> If you are pleased with my work, then I hope you'll consider leaving kudos, sharing this story on Tumblr and Twitter (where I am also under Eileniessa) and/or leaving a comment as I rather enjoy hearing from you. Constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated.


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